A kind of messed up Game
by xxSiriusxxforeverxx
Summary: Yeah, I know you think I'm a monster. I guess I was suppose to be one. You must hate me. But just hear me out first... A Clove fanfic, may become Clove/Cato. Rated T for now.
1. Chapter 1: A funny beginning

_"Clove! Why are you home already?" comes an angry shout. A tall muscular man rises out of his plush red sofa, features twisted with rage. The door to his lavish house stands open, and rain drums on the window pains. A small dark haired girl stands in the wet, covered with bruises._

_"It's twelve p.m. Daddy," she whispers, hesitantly stepping over the threshold. The man throws his remote control down in anger, and the t.v. blares on, ignoring the drama unfolding in the house. He stalks over, grabbing a chunk of her hair._

_"You know you have to practice until two on Saturdays!" he growls, practically spitting in her face. A vein is popping out of his cherry red neck, and his hands are rough and angry. Clove stands there, face twitching, and the smallest of whimpers escapes her lips._

_"Say something!" he screams, throwing her down on the floor. She collapses and her head hits the cold, unforgiving tile, hard, sending out a loud bang of noise. She screams, and her hands come to the new gash in her head, and come away red._

_"Please! I'm sorry, I was just so tired, and Cravat said I was doing good and I could come home early. I'm so sorry-" she is cut off as he roughly kicks her again, and this time she only moans._

_"No excuses! Never show weakness! Never have mercy!" her father barks, raising his foot for another kick. She quickly rolls over, grabbing the drawer of a chestnut desk to pull her self up. Her father grunts._

_"At least you're leaning something," he snarls, to her bloody, trembling form. She grabs her dark hair with scarlet hands and pushes it back, steeling her face._

_"Yeah, Cravat says I'm already as good as the twelve year olds," she says, jumping to the opening in the fight. Her father narrows his eyes, turning back to his television set._

_"Twelve is the first year you can even enter the games! And then only the best volunteer! You need to train harder," he says coldly, settling back into his comfy looking couch. His eyes lock on the t.v._

_It's playing some old re-run of a couple of games, and currently a tall golden haired girl was stabbing a small boy, again, and again, and again. Blood splatters her each time, and her perfect features are stained red. Her mouth is twisted in some sort of sob smirk, and she won't stop stabbing the little boy, even though he's long dead._

_Clove backs away into the rain, trying to block out the image. Without taking his eyes away from the t.v. Her father opens his mouth to say something. She flinches, backing away._

_"I'm going!" she whispers. _

_"I know," he sounds annoyed, "I was just going to say shut the door on your way out." Clove stares at him, but eventually the throbbing pain in her head shocks her out of her stupor. She carefully takes the door and shuts it quietly with trembling hands, before starting off into the rain._

_She was only seven._

_..._

_**Thunk! **_

_**Thunk!**_

_**Thunk!**_

_**Thu-**_

"Clove!" calls a loud voice. I ignore it, and send my dagger flying into the next dummy. It makes a satisfying 'thunking' noise like the rest of them. Now the speed of the dummies increase, and they pop out of no where, flashing red, seconds after each other.

I'm totally focused and my knives fly from my hands, hitting the direct center of each dummy. The next dummy spins out in front of me and automatically my hand throws the dagger. But is that a wisp of blonde hair on that dummy? Hadn't the last one had blue eyes?

The dummies suddenly all have hair, eyes, their cloth skin is morphing into fleshy and soft, scarlet stains bloom on their chests, their heads, they are staring at me, the light fading from their eyes...

"CLOVE!" this time the shout is louder, and strong hands are around my shoulders. I sink back into a warm body, looking around in horror. The dummy I was so sure had blonde hair is standing in front of me, peppered with at least thirty of my knives, swaying precariously.

"Just one should do it," says a soft voice, and a warm hand pushes back a lock of my dark hair. Now, I recognize the voice. Cato.

"I know," I say miserably, turning around so that I'm facing him. As usual he's tall and tanned, wearing a cut of sleeve shirt that shows his huge bulging arms. Sandy blonde hair falls in his eyes, that are watching me seriously. To any other girl, standing this close to Cato Farner is a dream come true.

But I'm not like that.

So I push away, and stalk over to the dummies, grabbing my knives, and sliding them quickly into my belt. Soon my belt holds around twenty-five knives, all clanking around me, and I hold ten.

"Clove," he says again. I spin around, my usual provocative anger spiking through. _Do you have some obsession with saying my name or something?_

But instead I force a controlled answer through gritted teeth, "What?"

"Cravat is calling a meeting," he says hesitantly, swinging a wicked looking sword by his side. I grab my wild black hair and fasten it into a long pony tail, something I have a habit of doing when I'm jittery.

"So?" I snap, staring at him. Cato sighs, running a hand through his hair. _Why does he always do that? _

"Clove, it's a meeting for _**everyone**_, you know, to announce the competition," Cato replies, annoyingly patient. He's only like this with me, with everyone else, he acts like an ass, self centered, and constantly smirking.

The competition.Every year, everyone eligible for the Hunger Games competes in the District Two competition, a test of all the skills needed for the games. The two winners, one girl, and one boy, are the two people allowed to volunteer at the Reaping. I have been training for the Games my entire life, but only at sixteen, I doubt I will win.

The winners are always eighteen, and have trained their whole life for the Games. Everyone knows that Cato will win. He is eighteen and already the District Two prodigy. I sigh, because my father expects me to be a perfect monster, trained and bred careful for this.

He expects me to win the competition and enter the Games at _sixteen._

"Alright, I'm coming," I say, my thumb flicking the off the button for the dummies, until I realize Cato has already done it. _Oh course, stupid! If it was on, the dummies would be moving!_

Mildly embarrassed, I drop my sheathed knives in my sports bag that sits empty by the door to the huge training room. I keep one slid up my sleeve and push one into each of my tall, flexible, black boots. Then I zip the bag shut, and stand there looking at it.

"Come on," I say coldly, my finger hovering over the switch for the light. Cato stares at the slashed up dummy for a second. I glare, tapping my foot. _If he makes another comment..._

"Okay, okay, I'm coming," he smirks, still twirling his sword. Cato walks across the white tiled room toward me, his loud foot steps echoing through the large empty room. This part of the Career academy is devoted to knives. One wall is covered with knives, of varying colors, shapes, sizes, and of course, lethalness. I had been practicing on the moving dummies, but there were stand still dummies, long distance targets, anything that could possibly challenge you with a knife.

"Clove!" he laughs again, still smirking. I start out of my thoughts, realizing that he has already left the room and is walking down the hallway. I growl slightly and catch up to him, landing a well aimed blow on his upper arm. Cato winces. _There. Not such a tough guy after all._

We walk in silence for a bit, but as the shouts, and clashes and screams of the main center grow louder, my hand unconsciously slips into Cato's, and I try to steady my trembles. I've never liked loud noises. But it's hard to avoid that in the main room.

The main room is giant, and is where most of the beginners practice, or people who want help with something. It has a place for every single activity, rock climbing, archery, survival skills, anything to do with the Games. Of course, if you specialize in something you can go off and practice in a room devoted to that, but Cravat was always in the main room.

Cato gently tugs me in, and the only thing that seems to be anchoring me down is his hand, firmly clasped around mine. Everyone has gone a bit fuzzy, and the racket from all the screaming, grunting, shouting kids has seem been muted. There seems to be red stains everywhere, on the chest of a girl sparring with a boy, on the hands of small boy, desperately scaling a rock climbing wall as fast as he can, on the arrow head of a focused archer...

"Clove," my name uttered softly in my ear jolts me out of my horror, and the unbearable shouts continue.

"Sorry Cato," I mutter, releasing his hand. A few other older kids are handing around the perimeter of the room, arms crossed, glaring silently at the floor. The younger kids are still scrambling all over the stations, but a familiar bald head is rushing around, pulling the kids away from their activities. Cravat.

"Cravat, you need some help?" Cato calls, striding away from me. I stare at his empty spot, praying that the others don't come over. But of course, they do.

"Hey Clove. Cravat called you too?" asked a mildly friendly voice. It's Leif, another eighteen year old boy. He's not quite as unfriendly as everyone else, but of course, I am.

"Obviously. The competition is for everyone eligible for the Games," I drawl. Leif just grins, which is extremely irritating.

"I know, just asking," he says, hands up. I suppress a snort. All of the older kids think they're so good, but I know Cato will win. I open my mouth for another snarky retort, but a tall girl with shimmery blonde hair stalks over. Ivy.

"Come on, don't even bother talking to her. She thinks she's so much better then everyone," Ivy snaps, grabbing Leif's arm and leading him away. Now I stand alone, slightly uncomfortable.

Cato and Cravat have finally gotten the kids into some kind of order, and everyone has gone silent. I find the shock from loud to quiet is unpleasant. Cato is still standing by Cravat. I wish Cato was over here.

"As you all know," starts out Cravat in his large booming voice, "District Two holds a yearly competition to find out which of all of you, are the best. The best of the best." He's quiet for a second, letting his words sink in. The younger kids are all chattering excitedly, all probably thinking that _they _might win, and that _they _might be able bring honor to District Two.

I feel my self slipping, because that thought has brought on a whole new rush of memories...

...

_"I didn't make it Daddy," Clove whispers, one night over a dinner of cold eggs. Her beefy father looks up, eyes zeroing in on her._

_"You didn't make it?" he repeats, in a deadly voice. She nods, and gulps, eyes shining with terror._

_"Cravat says only the eighteen year olds usually make it, and that I did really good for twelve," she says hesitantly, putting her fork down. Her father grabs his butter knife and sinks it into the oak wood table, standing up._

_"I don't care what Cravat says! I want to know why you didn't make it!" he screams, like an uncontrollable toddler. She trembles, fingers closing around her own butter knife._

_"I wasn't good enough Daddy. The twelve year olds never make it," she says, sliding the knife beneath the table, concealing it. He rips the table cloth off the table, sending everything flying._

_"How were you not good enough? You've been training since you were two!" he shouts, advancing forward, a fork clutched in his hand. She carefully slide her fingers into her boot, pulling out a wicked looking knife, that doesn't seem to belong in her child like hands._

_"So were the eighteen year olds," she says in a small voice, both knives still covered. _

_"That's not an excuse!" her father barks, slamming his fist on the table. Her knives are out faster then he can blink, and she is surprisingly calm._

_"Cravat says I can throw these really well," she says, glancing down at her butter knife. Her father smirks, twirling his fork. He hasn't seen her other knife yet._

_"Oooh, a butter knife. I'm so scared," he sneers, still walking towards her. She sighs, bringing the other knife into view. Her eyes are blank and expressionless, like someone else is controlling her. He stiffens._

_"Oh, you know, Cravat says I should learn to protect my self," Clove murmurs, her little white fingers stretched out on the knife, ready to flick it into her father's chest. He knows this._

_"I'm going to bed," her father growls, throwing the fork down. After another wary glance at his daughter, he grabs a bottle of beer and vanishes into another room. Clove is shaking very hard. Today she has won..._

_..._

"So, make sure to be here on time tomorrow," barks Cravat, and I realize I'm swaying, and that there's blood in my mouth. _Crap. I bit my lip._ Everyone's staring at me, so I lift me head, avoiding Cato's searching gaze.

"Well, get back to your work," Cravat says, annoyed, because we are all standing around him like big lumps. The kids surge back to their stations, pushing and yelling. The older kids hang around, talking quietly. _Probably about you, you idiot. _

"Clove, what are you doing?" asks an amused voice. Of course it's Cato. He's standing with Leif, Ivy, and the others, and I'm standing alone.

"What?" I snarl, because to me there's nothing wrong with standing alone. But I guess when you're Cato, you can't afford to have loser friends.

"Come on over here. You look lost," Cato smirks, earning an overly high pitched squeal from Ivy. Her dark green eyes are full of loathing as they glance my way. Her hand is on Cato's arm. _Why the hell is her hand on his arm?_

...

_Don't be an idiot, Clove. You're not jealous of Cato. _Now I'm standing with his pack, and they're all laughing and joking, but my eyes can't stay away from Ivy and Cato. She's got her hand shoved down his back pocket, and she's annoyingly close to him. His large tanned arm is stretched around her shoulders, playing were her long hair.

No one is talking about training, or the games. I want to be back in the knife room, practicing for tomorrow, but they don't. There's no other sixteen year olds here, only eighteen, and a handful of seventeen year old kids. That's how it is, if you can kill some one in at least twenty different ways, you're in. _I can kill someone in thirty different ways._

_Stop Clove, focus. You can't spaz out here in front of Cato's worshippers. _

"Why don't we go practice, you know. For tomorrow?" I say loudly. Everyone stares at me like that's the stupidest thing ever. Already I can feel my self flushing.

"Clove, honey. Not all of us _need _to practice. But if you feel the need, why don't you go practice?" Ivy says cruelly, her arm tightening around Cato. My heart beat quickens, and blood rushes to me head. Everyone's sneering faces seem to be closing in around me.

"I'm going with Clove," says a soft voice. It's Cato, and he's holding my hand, pulling me back to reality. Ivy stands abandoned next to Leif, looking angry. I curl my fingers around my knife, the soft leather grip's familiarity calming me instantly.

"I'll go with Cato," Boar grunts. Boar is a huge meaty seventeen year old, but looks eighteen. He follows Cato around like a lost puppy.

"Me too," Shard, a tall, thin, guy, says. A tiny girl called Shana rolls her eyes, but I know she's in because she follows Shard everywhere. Leif grins at me, and I guess I'm suppose to melt into a puddle because he looks a bit peeved when I don't smile back.

"Sure, sure, I'm in. Guess I could use a little practice. Ivy will come too, won't you Ivy?" Leif says, cracking his knuckles. Ivy looks a bit mad, but she tosses her hair, and stalks forward. Cato follows, and I feel like a little girl as he tugs me along, his big fingers enveloping mine. _I don't like the feeling._

I pull away sharply, but he doesn't seem to care. The others follow, and Ivy leads us to a kind of a mini version of the main center, but it's weapons only, no survival or strength stations. I drop my gym bag and grab a few knives.

Ivy heads over to the spear area, where she stabs a few dummies in the gut. Leif and Cato face off with wooden swords, with Boar watching wide eyed. Shard and Shana grab some bows.

Deftly, I flick the first knife out of my hand, and it lands squarely on the center of target that sits across the entire room. _Whoa, that was lucky. _Now I have everyone's attention, a chance to prove that I'm the best.

The dummies are moving now, Cato turned on the switch. I lunge, sending five daggers at once, and they sink into the dummy satisfyingly. I start to feel the familiar fuzzy feeling in my head, and I whip out the knives faster and faster, not stopping to watch where they hit.

Soon the strange feeling fades away, and the dummies come to a halt. I have hit every dummy right in the chest. I'm shaking slightly, but I calm my self, smirking slightly at the fact that everyone is trying not stare at me.

"What?" I snap, jogging over and collecting my knives.

"Oh nothing, just the fact that you just hit every single target right from across the room," says Shard sarcastically, and Ivy glares slightly. They're all jealous.

_You've got this Clove. You could win..._

**Alright, that was the first chapter. I just wanted to make a Clove story that explained why she was so messed up. I find that everyone either hates her, or thinks she's awesome because she's so evil.**

**I don't think any of the tributes are really evil, so that's why I wrote this.**

**It's my first Hungers Games fanfic, so don't be harsh.**

**Reviews are appreciated! :)**

**-Madi**


	2. Chapter 2: I want this, right?

It's a gloomy day. _Perfect. _Grumbling slightly, I slid out of my bed, a huge chunk of stone carved out and fitted with plump a mattress and fluffy sheets and blankets. A typical District Two bed. I throw my blankets into one hasty pile on top of my bed, having no time to make it.

A slight breeze of wet tickles the back of my neck as I reach into the wooden dresser for clothes, and I whirl around. To my annoyance, I've left the window open and there's a huge puddle of water on the floor from the night rain. Now only a faint drizzle blows in.

Scowling, I slam the window shut, and the panes rattle vigorously. Fully in a bad mood, I tear off my silly, lacy, cream colored night gown, and stuff it under my pillow. _There_. Catching I glimpse of my self in the mirror worsens my mood.

I'm naturally small, but I look particularly tiny and scrawny, my rib cage showing clearing through my pale, white skin. My small dusting of freckles across my nose has swelled, and I glare at the colony of them. They don't seem to care. _Of course, idiot. They're __**freckles!**_

My black hair is twisted in a knot at the nape of my neck. After a while, I don't really bother taking it out, but today is the competition, and I need to look my best. At least I have a distinct outline of muscle. Deciding that the mirror has ruined my mood enough, I stalk over to the curtained off bathroom.

With a deft twist of my hand I turn the shower, and warm water squirts down from the shower head, as I step into the shower, not minding the piles of sludge and dirt that have accumulated over time. The water refreshingly trickles down my neck, and loosens my knot of hair into tangled waves.

I rub of a bit of the Capital imported cream into my hair, and then rise it out thoroughly, the sweet lavender vanilla scent making me wheeze. After a few more delightful moments in the shower, I mournfully twist it off, and pull down a fuzzy red bathrobe from the hook by my sink.

I wrap it around me and then set to work on my snarls of hair with a ivory comb. Soon they fall loose and flat around my face. _Much better. _I set down the comb on the shiny surface of the sink and then push the curtain aside.

"Finally," says an amused voice, and my heart stops. Cato.

_..._

_What the hell? What the hell is Cato doing in my bedroom? I'm in a freaking bathrobe! _But there he is, slouching against the open doorway, smirking slightly at my embarrassing state, and I instinctively clutch my robe tighter to me, even though it's already wrapped securely around me.

"What the-" I start off furiously. It's probably a good thing Cato cuts in, because that sentence wouldn't have ended well.

"Calm down Clove, I'm only here to walk you to training," he smirks, arms crossed across his chest. I glare heatedly at him.

"You could wait downstairs. Politely," I snap, and he smirks further, looking infuriatingly pleased with my discomfort and anger.

"But you were taking so long," he moans dramatically, and I really want to smack him. And I do. Cause I can. He looks hurt, but I know better.

"If my dad knew you were up here-" I begin a rant again.

"He's not home," Cato says, victoriously. _Oh, well...what were you expecting Clove? That he might actually stay and wish you luck? _I blink quickly, avoiding Cato's eyes. He looks a little guiltily, but doesn't say anything.

"Well, I need to change first," I say in a drawling tone, rolling my eyes. Cato smiles slowly and devilishly, and I raise my eyebrows, sending him a piercing glare.

"So?" he says, and now I know he's teasing. I soften slightly, punching him lightly in the shoulder.

"So get in the freaking bathroom!" I say, laughing. He smiles at my laughter, and it's a real genuine smile, not one of those nasty smirks. I think I'm the only one who has ever seen his actual smile. He only shows it around me.

"Okay, okay," Cato, grins, hands up as he strides into the bathroom, pulling the curtain shut. I walk quietly over to my dresser, and pull open some drawers, rummaging for some clothes.

"And no peeking!" I call, but I'm just joking. He snorts loudly from the bathroom. Finally, I find what I need, long, tight, gray leggings, a black short sleeve T-shirt, and my beat up gray army jacket. I crouch behind my bed, just in case, and shed the robe, pulling on my clothes.

"Alright, I'm done," I say once I'm finished. I slip into my tall, lace up, black boots and grab my pre-packed gym bag. Cato pushes through the curtain, smirking.

"Oh, this is all so funny to you?" I say, glancing back at him, as we proceed down the spiral staircase. Surprising, what I thought was going to be a bad day, has changed drastically. This is one of my good days, when I'm almost...normal.

"Kind of, yeah," he says, trying to contain laughter. The two of us walk out the front door into the gloomy day, and into the city of District Two.

Tall stone arches crisscross the city, as every house is made of stone. Craggy mountains surround our little District, looming and forbidding. Despite the rainy bleakness of the day, and the stone, bright banners and signs line the stores, and beautiful carvings are engraved into the houses and shops.

I smile brightly, letting the rain cascade softly onto my face as we walk around. I feel like a little girl, the little girl I should of been. This thought brings a slight frown to my face, and all like that, everything darkens, turning blank and rock colored, and I pull the jacket tightly around me, blocking out the rain.

The carvings are less prominent, and even the colors seem to be fading slightly. I sigh unhappily. Cato's fingers grope for mine in the sleeves of my jacket, and they calm me a bit. He searches my face, confused at my change of mood. But I keep my thoughts boiling under my skin, not allowing them to shine through. He looks almost sad.

Cato and I have been friends for what seems like forever. When I was little he found me throwing knives in an uncontrollable rage at my door, and instead of being scared of my anger, was impressed. I could only have been five, and he was seven, but we bonded instantly, the popular kid, and the outcast.

I could of been as looked up to as him, seeing that I could throw a knife better then a twelve year old, but I think it was my anger and unstableness that threw people off. But Cato, Cato was the golden boy. Strong, skilled, and handsome, he was immediately the new sensation, our future Victor. But me, I was always forgotten. I was 'that girl that Cato always hangs out with.'

Now as we enter the training building, I feel utterly closed off from Cato, more alone then ever before, despite his hand around mine...

...

"Alright! Today we will be testing you in several area, survival skills, strength, and weaponry," Cravat says, as we all stand up lined before him in our age groups. I stand with about ten other sixteen year olds, whom which I have all surpassed years ago.

"I want the twelve, thirteen, and fourteen years olds staying here, to be testing in survival skills with Clio," Cravat continues in his loud, booming voice. A tall thin women with long black hair and a cold expression gestures slightly to her self. There are several moans from the kids, they all want to grab a knife and stab a dummy. _Come to think of it, so do I_.

"The fifth and sixteen years olds will head over to the wrestling room with Carter," Cravat shouts, pointing at a huge man I immediately recognize as Carter Marthwood. I leave my face impassive, because it's also what I'm thinking. Some of my fellow sixteen and fifthteen are grumbling, but really, I excel in everything. I stride over to Carter, the others trailing behind me. He grunts to acknowledge me, and then starts out the door. Dimly I hear Cravat announcing that the seven and eighteen year olds will be starting in weaponry. _Typical._

Carter ushers us into the wrestling room which is all set up with different stations. Thankful, everyone has the sense to be quiet and face him as he shuts the door and turns towards us.

"Now, I know you all want to slam someone's head into a wall, but despite the name of this room, we are not only wrestling," Carter growls, pacing back and forth. Some petite strawberry blonde girl next to me swallows. I smirk softly. I am am the top dog here.

"Now, I want you to divide your selves among the activities, and I will be walking around and inspecting you. Don't a single one of you dare to fight over stations, there will be time for everyone," Carter snaps, motioning for us to disperse. I'm already gone, quietly but decisively walking to the wrestling station.

The strawberry blonde girl gets there second, but gulps when she sees me and quickly walks over to the next station. A tall dark haired boy my age swaggers up to wrestling, his eyes never even flicking to me once as he pulls on his protective gear. _Mistake. _I'm already sizing him up, and I immediately know how to beat him.

I remember him vaguely from when I was young and didn't practice alone. His name is Clart, and if I remember quickly, he was as big as a show off when we were twelve as he appears now. Muscles, but no brains. Clart finally straightens up, glancing at me, bored.

"Aren't you going to put your gear on?" he asks lazily, cracking his knuckles. He clearly thinks he can crush me, he's not even really looking at me anymore.

"I think I'm good," I say pleasantly. His eyes finally snap into focus on me, but they are amused.

"Seriously? I think you better put your gear on," Clart laughs snidely. I will take pleasure in beating him up. The other kids are sending him wide eyed warning looks, but he ignores them. Carter stalks up to us.

"Are you guys ready yet?" he snarls, uncapping his pen savagely. Clart swallows slightly.

"No. _She _won't put her gear on," he says in a whiny voice. _Totally immature. _Carter writes something down on his clipboard and then slowly looks at me.

"She doesn't have to," he says finally, "it's her choice." I restrain my self from grinning cheekily at Clart. Clart makes a small growling noise, and then glares at me.

"Her mistake," he snaps. _Ha, that was your mistake. _I lunge, taking him by surprise and knocking him over. He goes flying across the padded arena, bouncing clumsily in his ridiculous suit. I sprint forward, tackling him as he struggles to his feat. His muscles flex as he locks iron fists on to my skinny wrists. I wince at the surprising pain, but easily twist my way out and grab both his wrists in one swift moment. I slam his head down in another, and dig my knees into his side, keeping him down.

_Never show mercy, Clove. _

My father's voice echoes in my head, and rage flies out of me. I grab Clart's throat, and slam his head down so hard that he looks dizzy even with his helmet. I switch my position so that my knees are on his arms and punch him hard in the face.

I've already won, but I continue punching him in the face until I can't see flesh. Everything is soaked in blood... After a while I feel Carter's tentative hand on my shoulder. He immediately whips it back, and I know why. I have a tendency for getting a bit out of control.

I stand up and wipe Clarts blood off my face with an equally bloody wrist. Silently Carter hands me some paper towels, and I wipe the blood off my face and clothes. Carter nods to me, a small sort of cruel grin on his face. I am exactly what they are looking for. A monster.

Clart is moaning on the floor, and a team of doctors clean him up. Without a backwards glance I walk over the weight lifting. There are several medicine balls of various weights. The muscly boys are all groaning and sweating, trying to lift the heaviest one. I stalk over to a large boy and snatch the weight away from him, barely wincing at the new weight. They all glower at me. Me, a skinny tiny girl. Them, huge muscular boys. They can't pick it up. I can.

I practice chucking the weights at a few targets for a moment before moving on.

_You've got this Clove._

...

Now I stand in survival skills as Clio quietly and coolly explains the different stations. I take in everything at once. A rock climbing wall that collapses upwards as you climb, a tall net strung high in the rafters, a lower net for climbing across, fire making, trap setting, animal tracking, water finding, shelter building, and weather detecting.

Clio dismisses us and I head for weather detecting, the least popular thing. A small weedy instructor looks delighted to see me and explains the changes in weather, and how to sense and escape from weather vigorously. I nod intently at every detail, storing everything in my brain.

Next I learn how to build a shelter in twenty different ways, and in twenty different settings. Every instructor looks impressed. At water finding I learn the different places water is found, and the signs of water, and in animal tracking I am soon an expert in following and hunting animals. _Not that you weren't already. _

At trap setting the instructor explains how to set deadly traps that spring out of no where, and I get a sick picture of being trapped in a net, vicious careers jeering at me from below, jabbing me with their weapons. _Idiot, you are a career!_

As I move into the more active stations, they are mostly empty. I can sense Clio trailing me like a shadow. She is impressed too. With no effort I spring up and latch onto the net, quickly swinging from knot to knot, until I hop off at the end. _Good job Clove. _I'm pleased with my self. So far, no mistakes. But no doubt Ivy hasn't messed up either...

Next I inspect the high net. The only visible way to get up is shimmying up the tall wooden poles that hold it up. They must be about three stories. But determinedly I bear hug the pole, pulling my self up.

Immediately I realize it's the hardest thing I've done. Soon I'm sweating and gasping for breath, but force my self upwards. _Come on, Clove! _Up, up, up, up...

My thoughts are turning blank and in one fatal mistake I loosen my grip. _Crap, I'm falling._ My instincts kick in and I reach for the pole, sinking my nails in. I start to scrape to a painful halt and red stains my finger tips. My nails are gone... Angrily, I pull my self up the rest of the way, finally collapsing in the net. For a few moments I cradle my fingers, letting the blood soak into my jacket.

I pull my self up slowly, finished taking a breath. Gently I lower my self back onto the pole, and let my self slide slowly down. When my feat touch the ground I force my face impassive, hiding my pain. Clio studies me slightly, writes something down, and sweeps off.

I hobble over to the rock climbing wall, exhausted and out of breath. But I've been doing this one for years, and I know every foot hole, and easily scramble up the falling wall. The wall stabilizes as I ring the bell, and then I quickly scramble down, done.

...

Cravat doesn't even speak to us, just stands looming by the door, eyes sweeping over all of us. I know what to do. I hurry over to the knife station. The same strawberry blonde girl from before glances at me; she's already there. But this time she doesn't flee, and continues chucking her knives at the target.

_She's holding the knife wrong, too stiff and tense. She also needs to adjust her stance, she doesn't need to stretch her leg out like that. _Thoughts immediately fly through my head, but I push them away, retrieving my knives. _This is about you, Clove. Focus._

I whirl a few knives at the target, do some tricks, and try some long distance. Every knife hits the center, but I'm bored, searching for a challenge. Miss strawberry is backing away again, clearly outshone, but I glance around quickly. Cravat has stopped watching me and moved on to something else.

"Hey, you," I hiss to the girl. She whirls around in surprise, trembling slightly. _I guess everyone saw me with Clart... _

"Calm down- wait, what your name?" I say impatiently. She blinks large lavender colored eyes at me, but they are narrowed with focus, fear, and some slight...interest. I take this as a good sign.

"Blossom," she says quietly, her eyes still sizing me up. I can't control a snort, her name sounds like one of those ridiculous names from District One. She frowns, looking a little offended.

"Look, _Blossom, _your stance is all wrong. And you need to relax your grip a bit," I tell her. A small, sudden, glare crosses her features, and it's surprisingly fierce.

"Just because you're, well, _Clove, _doesn't mean you can boss me around! You think you're so much better everyone else-" she growls furiously, like a little wolf. I am startled by the venom in her voice, and feel a small prick of sadness touch me. _You really are a monster to everyone else..._

"It's okay, I was just trying to help," I say softly, turning to go get my knives. Her soft rosy hand touches my shoulder and I instinctively flinch. Whenever someone besides Cato touches me, it's usually to hurt me...

Blossom looks surprised, and then a little sympathetic. She takes her hand away from me and then turns away. I'm a little surprised until she picks up a knife. Her grip and her stance is more relaxed and in one swift motion she wings the knife directly into the dead center of the target board. Then she turns to me.

"Thank you," Blossom says, smiling slightly.

_Maybe you aren't such a monster after all._

...

Cato's face is a picture of determination as he slashes at the dummy. He wields his sword like a third hand, fast, flexible, and deadly. The shiny blade twirls through his fingers as he lunges, striking the shredded dummy, and then spins around, sinking his sword through the head of the dummy.

I'm transfixed watching him, but then again, he's always like this when he's fighting. Finally he notices me, and stops, wiping the dripping sweat away from his brow with the back of his sleeve.

"Hey Clove," he says, leaning on his sword, still panting a bit. I give him a half smile, because right now I'm so nervous that I can't even speak. He looks nervous too, at least nervous for being Cato and all. Only I could tell that the white knuckled grip on his sword meant he was unsure.

"What if I don't make it?" I finally say hoarsely. It has been several hours since the competition, and I am awaiting the results, which will be announced this evening. The sky is already darkening. Cato abandons his sword, which makes a loud clatter falling to the ground, and walks swiftly up to me, strong fingers grabbing mine.

"Listen Clove. Nothing will happen, nothing at all," he says soothingly, his thumbs rubbing the backs of my hands. I hold a sob in my chest, because he's wrong. So wrong. My father will hurt me like he usually does.

"Your father can't do anything to you," he says, seeming a bit angry as a traitorous tear leeks away from my eye. But not angry at me. For me. But now I am angry at him.

"Yes he can! You forget, Cato, that the he won the games too!" I yell, clenching my fists in fury. The world is swaying around me, but I am precise and vicious as I swing my fist towards him.

"Clove," barks Cato's sharp voice, and like usual, I'm started out of my angry daze. Four knives are held delicately in my hands. I stare. _I was going to punch him, not stab him! _But apparently not. The knives fall to the ground.

"I'm sorry," says Cato more gently, even though I should be the one apologizing. I don't say anything, but he understands. Just then two bell chimes ring out. Three means the reaping. Two means the winners of the competition will be announced. I stare hollowly at Cato.

He grabs my arm and tugs me to the main room. Everyone is unusually quiet as they crowd around Cravat, even the kids. Ivy and Leif stand by the doorway, arms folded. The rest of the eighteen year olds have similar positions. But Cato stays with me, and I manage to breath evenly.

_You're such a typical career, Clove. Hyperventilating about what will happen to you if you don't get chosen for a fight to the death. _But honestly, I fear my father more then the games...

"Today!" calls Cravat, clearing his throat, "All of you showed your skills to the best of your abilities in a difficult contest. Only two of you, were good enough for the games." He pauses, to let that sink in.

"And those two were..." he clears his throat again, checking a tiny slip of paper. My heart pounds, and Cato squeezes my hand.

"Clove," Cravat booms, and there is no joy, like I expected, in my heart. I am happy, yes, but more shocked. _He really picked me! _Now I can get away from my father, training, the stares of everyone, and really bring pride to my District.

"and Cato," Cravat finishes, looking up. _Oh no..._

**And, that's the end of chapter two! Like it? Review please!**

**I was so happy at how many people liked my story! If you didn't review, you favorited me. If you didn't favorite me, you at least put my on your alerts!**

**Review answers:**

**Starriseandsing- I'm glad you think it's good! :)**

**Molly of the Chazin Clan- so glad you love it! *squeals like a little girl!***

**A Very Scary Tigerish Berry- You better go pick up the huger games, and read it right now! At least the first one! :) they are amazing! I like the summery to, I was particularly proud of it! XD Yeah, I didn't really like the name either, but I couldn't think of anything... If any of you have ideas for the title, feel free to suggest them! Anyways, thanks for the review!**

**Thank you xRoguexRavenx and Hoahphgfan for favoriting me, maybe drop a review next time? XD**

**Thanks to everyone who put me on their alerts list, I'm glad you'll be watching my story! XD**

**Review please!**

**-Madi**


	3. Chapter 3: Good luck and kisses

**Here's another chapter!**

I stare at the dress on my bed. It is dark gray color with a deep scope neck and short sleeves. It's clingy and short, and I can't look at it without thinking of mom. I can almost picture her long dark auburn hair and black eyes, the sprinkle of elegant freckles across her face, her large smiling lips...

_"Clove darling, come here," called a gorgeous lady in a tinkling voice. The small, dark haired, sullen faced girl, stalked over to her, arms crossed. The lady laughed at Clove's pout, enveloping her child in a hug._

_"Mom!" growled Clove, pulling away. Her mother just laughed again, pulling Clove's nose._

_"I'm going to a party to night, baby," she whispered mysteriously, getting up and applying dark red lipstick to her full lips. "How do I look?" She shimmied her hips, the brand new gray dress fitting her curves perfectly._

_"Wonderful," Clove muttered, glancing self consciously at her dirt caked fingernails. She quickly clasped her hands behind her back._

_"What's wrong, sweetie?" asked her mother, her brow wrinkling. Clove sighed, letting a small amount of wonder flicker across her face._

_"You're so beautiful," the small girl said, "and I'm not..."_

_"Oh, that's no true! Look at these beautiful dark curls!" exclaimed her mother, running a loving hand through Clove's snarled hair, "And your big brown eyes!" Clove glanced at her self in her mother's mirror, momentarily seeing the pretty little girl her mother thought she was._

_"Ellen!" called a rough voice. Clove winced, scrambling for the door as her father's heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs. The tiny girl pushed her self behind the great stone clock, heart pounding. _

_Her father stopped on the landing, his eyes greedily taking in Ellen. She smiled a seducing smile, and he crossed the room quickly, his eyes fixed on hers._

_"You look great Ellen," he said, his arms circling her waist, drawing her close. Clove pressed her self further behind the clock, averting her eyes from her parents. She never understood why her perfect, beautiful, mother stayed with her father, a drunk and vicious example of a Hunger Games winner. _

_Clove peeked out from behind the clock, only to shoot back in when she saw her parents kissing. Slowly she crept into her room on all fours. After a few moments Ellen's soft voice carried over to her._

_"Have a good night Clove!" The front door slammed and Clove was alone again..._

I still don't understand why Ellen Sumber would every marry my father. I suppose it was for the money, mother always cared a great deal about money. Mother had always been everything I wasn't, pretty, popular, and sociable.

When I was little I always admired her, while still resenting her for being so perfect. Now I stare at the dress she wore the day she died. The day she and father left for a party, and he returned alone. The day father lost whatever grasp on whatever sanity he had left. They say it was the alcohol. Ellen always liked to drink. But I never thought she would have so much that... Angrily I ball up the dress, shoving it under my bed.

"You should wear that. It's pretty," said a deep voice softly. This time I'm not surprised, only glad I'm wearing my night gown, not a bath robe.

"Do you have an obsession with breaking into my house?" I mutter, slowly turning around to meet Cato's gaze. He's dressed nice, wearing a light blue tux with his blonde hair washed and combed. Of course. Today's the reaping.

"The door was open," he says easily, because Cato is never wrong. _Of course it was. Dad probably left it open last night when he was drunk._ That's a given anyways. Cato cocks as eyebrow. "Really, you should wear that."

"Why, because it's the only thing that will make me look even slightly good?" I snap, not sure why I'm in a bad mood.

"I never said that," Cato says, sounding put off. I know I've been unfair, so I silently pull the dress out and step into my bathroom, changing quickly. When the mirror catches my eye, I can't help realizing how different from my mother I look in this.

Ellen looked sexy and bright, turning the plain gray into a mysterious color, and making the dress seem too small at all the right parts. I make the dress look sullen and dark, although for the first time in a while, I like how I look in a dress.

"Told you," Cato says, pushing his way in. I'm about to spit out a sharp retort about my privacy when his hands brush the back of my neck as he pushes back my dark hair. I shiver involuntarily, and for a moment, we are both silent.

"Reaping today," he murmurs, the tips of his fingers still hovering at my neck.

"Yeah," I sigh, and my shock from yesterday sweeps back. Cato and are going to the Hunger Games. Together. And only one person is leaving.

"You know, we don't both have to go," Cato says, pulling back.

"You won't go?" I say, eyebrows raised in his direction. He runs his hands through his hair.

"Clove, you know I can't do that. But you could stay..." he growls and bit angrily. I spin around so that I'm facing him, my hands on my hips.

"You know that I can't either, Cato! There might not be a next year!" I shout, my fists curling. He glares at me.

"I can't stay behind! Everyone expects me to win!" Cato snarls.

"Yes, and if you win, I die," I say viciously, my fist surging forward. He catches it deftly, pulling me towards him. Before I can protest his hands are around my waist and my arms are pinned to my side, my face on his chest.

"That's why I want you to stay," he murmurs, and suddenly his lips are on mine, and he's kissing me softly. To my surprise I find my lips moving with his, because I like the light fluttery feeling in my stomach when he touches me.

_What are you doing Clove?_

...

_You're such an idiot, he doesn't like you. He's going be your enemy in the games._

I break away from him, gasping for air. His arms tighten around me, supporting me as I stagger. Cato leans forward for another kiss and I struggle back. His lips graze mine, but his arms loosen and I fall back against the sink.

"I can't do this," I whisper. He stares at me for a moment, before spinning around and stalking angrily out of the bathroom. I stand petrified until I hear his loud footsteps clunk downstairs, and the door slam.

My heart pounding I shakily exit the bathroom, pulling on my soft blue slippers. Softly I pad down the stairs trying not to wake my father. _You're so stupid. He's just playing with you._

_You're the mouse, Clove._

"Who was that?" grunts a loud voice. I groan inwardly as my father staggers into the room, red faced and brutish.

"Cato," I say carefully. My father admires Cato. Cato is the son my father never had. He stares at me for a moment, probably wondering why the hell Cato had been in the house. Finally he just grunts again. Either the alcohol from last night hasn't faded, or he's already starting drinking this morning.

"I heard you'vvvvve got chosen for the reeeeaping," he slurred, changing the subject. _Yeah, he's definitely drunk._

"I did," I answer, for a moment wondering if he might be proud of me. He looks at me for a moment before bursting into laughter. _That was clearly too much to hope._

"They- they chose yooooou?" he snorts, lumbering away. To my surprise my face is burning, and I hurry outside. The day is rainy like yesterday, and I turn my face to the heavens, letting the droplets cascade down on to me.

"Clove?" someone says softly. I spin around, expecting Cato, but instead it's that girl from yesterday, Blossom, I think. Her strawberry blonde hair is pulled into a tight ponytail, and she looks absolutely perfect her her plain white dress. The sleeves hang down to her elbows, and the dress bunches up at her chest, flowing out to her knees.

For a moment, I envy her but then I remember that I'm going to the games, not her. _Isn't that what you want, Clove?_

"Yes?" I say softly, because honestly I have no energy for being snarky right now. Blossom smiles slightly, pushing back a red curl.

"Good luck," she says seriously, her blazing green eyes meeting mine. I'm astonished at her kindness. Absently I think back to yesterday, and wonder if my life would be totally different if I acted like that all the time.

"Thanks," I smile, because I think I may have a friend. She pulls a dark red drawstring off her shoulder and rummages through it. Finally her face lights up a bit and she pulls out a tiny cloth object. Silently, she hands it to me and I study it curiously.

It's a tiny cat, crudely sewn with some light brown fabric. A tiny black bead is where its nose should be, and two tiny green eyes sparkle on its face. I gently touch its floppy whiskers, and notice a faint smell coming from it. Lifting it to my face, I inhale deeply.

The scent immediately triggers memories I have buried deep inside of me. The tiny cat is stuffed with clove. Fighting back tears I remember the apple pies my mother used to make, rich with the scent of clove, the mouth watering pork chops glistening with the spice I am named after.

"It's beautiful," I whisper, reluctantly giving it back to her. To my surprise her soft white fingers envelope mine, closing my hand around the cat.

"Keep it. My mother made it for me when I was little. It's a good luck charm," Blossom says kindly, her dark eyes studying me. I've gotten good at hiding my feelings over the years, but today I let a little bit of emotion escape.

"Thank you so much," I choke, delicately placing the small cat in the pocket on my dress. She smiles sadly, and then sweeps off towards the town square, where the reaping will take place. I stand frozen, wondering why she is acting like this.

_Like I'm a human._

_Like I'm not a monster..._

_..._

_Deep breaths, Clove._

Hardening my face, I walk down main street, heading towards the town square. Everyone's cheery, walking towards the reaping. Little boys and girls tug on their mother's dresses, asking why they can't get reaped yet.

Young kids dash down the street, laughing as they search the masses for the winners of the competition. District Two's pride. Cato and I. I walk swiftly with my head bowed, wishing I had stuck with the same silk shirt and dark pants from last year.

I feel naked in this dress.

A high tinkling laugh reaches my ears and I sigh as Ivy, Cato, and the others catch up with me, crowing and giggling like ridiculous kids. A warm hand clamps down on my shoulder and pulls me back. Instantly I tense, expecting Cato. It's Leif.

"Hey winner," he grins, his fingers carelessly tracing my chin as he turns it up towards him. I flinch back, but his grasp is strong, and I'm pinned by the arm around my shoulder. I search the the crowd, and find Cato clutching Ivy in a similar position, only she isn't resisting.

_See, Clove? He didn't mean what he did. He's already moved on._

But I still feel a sharp pain splintering my heart. Anger rushes to my head and I relax in Leif's arms as we walk, laughing at every pointless thing he says, like Ivy. I feel Cato's gaze on me and I risk a look at him.

He's looking at me in disbelief, as if it was me who did something wrong. I whip my head around, giggling, and risk a soft kiss on Leif's cheek. He seems shocked, because he freezes, but a few painful seconds later he grins dopily at me.

Leaning down he kisses me. On the lips. It's different then Cato's kiss, more confident and probing, and for a second I'm frozen in his arms. Remembering my senses I open my mouth, kissing him back furiously. When Leif finally leans back, I realize that everyone's watching us.

"You guys done yet?" asks Shana sarcastically, pulling her blonde hair away from her face. I redden, and pull away from Leif. He lets go, but grabs my hand, squeezing it. I wonder if he thinks I really like him. Cato is staring angrily at me, his fists clenching.

"Oh don't bother them. It was sweet," drawls Ivy, her hands resting on Cato's arms. Oh course she doesn't care. Less competition for Cato. _I bet she hopes I die. _After a moment everyone continues walking, and I fall to the back of the group.

A rough hand grabs my arm, twisting it painfully. My instincts kick in and my foot jabs out, kicking my attacker painfully in the chest. The grip loosens, and I turn around. Cato straightens up, tightening his grip agin.

"What the hell was that about?" he snarls, shoving me away from him. I force the hot tears of pain to not fall, and rub my arm gingerly.

"I don't understand Cato," I snap, glaring at him.

_Could he be jealous?_

_Don't be stupid. He's not jealous, he just has a big ego._

"_I _don't understand!" he growls back at me, his blonde hair messy. We enter the main square and are herded into a long line. At the end of the line a capital lady pricks our fingers, identifying us.

"What is preventing you from processing the events? Leif kissed me. Is that so hard to understand?" I say coldly, pushing aside some kids who have stopped. Apparently they have spotted the finger pricker.

"I didn't think you liked Leif!" Cato yells, his eyes shooting daggers at me. I swallow, because I'm a bad lier.

"What makes you think you know everything about me?" I saw quietly. His mouth opens, and then closes. I stare at him for a second, and then hold me finger out. A tall lady dressed in a white uniform slices it and I watch my blood fall onto a sheet of clear paper. Something in her hand buzzes, and I can make out 'Sumber, Clove' printed in green letters on the device in her hand.

She waves me off, and I walk towards the sixteen year old girls section without looking back at Cato. As I take my place I receive some stares, and whispers spread through the crowd like a fire. I glance at the boys side, and find Cato staring at me.

I turn away quickly, facing the stage in front of us. The main square fills up quickly and soon there is barely room to breath. I am jostled up against the two girls on my sides. They glare at me, pulling away simultaneously. My fingers work their way into the pocket in my dress and I rub my thumb against the cat.

My familiar fear of loud crowds and tight spaces kicks in, and I gasp a little, my hand squeezing the cat tighter. There is no Cato here to help me now._ Calm down Clove. Breath._

Soon enough the Mayer calls for silence and I sigh with relief as the square falls quiet. The Mayer, a big beefy man called Slate Garder, clears his throat, staring sullenly at the lot of us.

"May I introduce Seed Lark," mutters Mr. Garder, gesturing to our escort, Seed. Seed is an impossibly tall man, who looks rather stretched out with his long eye sockets and nose. His lips are plastered into a fake, permanent smile, and his face is powdered white. At least he has the sense to wear a tux, not some silly capital clothing article.

"Welcome to the seventy-fourth Hunger Games. We all hope that the odds are in you're favor," Seed says brightly, grinning at all of us. Slightly repulsed, I lower my gaze. Sometimes I wonder if what the capital means by that saying is that they hope we get chosen. It means quite the opposite for the rest of the Districts.

District Two doesn't pretend the games are some god given gift like the capital, nor do we find it entertaining. We cry with just as much grief as the rest of the Districts if one of our tributes die. But the thing is, we've excepted the fact that the games can't be avoided. Better to be prepared, and try to bring some pride to our District.

"The capital used to be a place called..." Seed slide into an entire speech about our history as usual. He spoke passionately about the uprising saying that the games were, "the event that brings us all together." I stare at the ground, my mind wandering. What will this year's arena be? Who will be the tributes I have to face?

"And now, we will pick the names," Seed calls out, breaking into my thoughts. My eyes snap up. _Focus Clove. What do you want to come off as? Vicious Career tribute? Mysterious? _But I don't have time to think because Seed's long pale fingers slip into the big glass bubble labeled 'girls.'

Carefully, he pulls out a slip of paper and unfolds it painstakingly, his mutated violet eyes scanning it slowly. Expressionlessly, he lifts his head. _Just spit it out! Who is it?_

"Blossom Silver," he says coldly, eyes scanning the crowd. Everyone is looking at Blossom and she looks a bit shocked. _Does she wish she actually will get to go? _When Seed's eyes find Blossom, he immediately searches the crowd for a volunteer.

The capital turns a blind eye to our training, but even Seed knows that Blossom can't be possibly the winner of the competition. He is waiting for a volunteer. _Me. _I realize I'm just standing there. Now everyone's looking at me, because I'm suppose to volunteer.

_This is what you want Clove!_

Seed's eyes find mine, and he cocks an eyebrow. He's waiting. Blossom is looking at me too, and her eyes are terrified. _She doesn't want to go. _I realize this with a start. Clearing my throat quietly, I step forward.

"I volunteer," I say coolly, brushing past the peacekeepers. I mount the stage surveying the crowd. _Perfect Clove._ I search the crowd, and find Cato staring at me. His mouth is tight, and he looks tense, but his expression is unreadable. I glance at Blossom, and she looks white.

_She's terrified._

For who, I have no idea. My father's ruddy face stands out in the roped off area for underage or overage people. He's laughing quietly, bumping elbows with a friend. He's not even paying attention. _He pushed me to achieve this my whole life! Now he's not even watching!_

"For the boys," announces Seed, dipping his hand into the other jar. His hand closes around a slip of paper and he pulls it out. Unfolding it, he clears his throat.

"Nitch Par-" he doesn't even finish before Cato is pushing out of the crowd.

"I volunteer," calls Cato, grinning. He strides onto the stage, his footsteps echoing through the silent square. Seed doesn't look surprised, he must be used to the huge boys that volunteer from District Two.

I ignore the fact that I'm inches away from Cato, and glare into the cameras. Because this is when the show starts. Right now, right here. I've prepared my whole life, and I can't blow it. Seed asks Cato and I to shake hands, and we face each other.

Cato carelessly grabs my hand, and shakes it, a long and firm shake that makes me want to melt. But I can't, not now. I can't trust Cato Farner anymore, and he can't trust me either.

Because the seventy-fourth Hunger Games have begun...

**Thanks again for the reviews I received! **

**Molly of the Chazin clan- glad you think it's epic! **

**Spiderman- thank you the long review, I really appreciated it! :) I'll try to increase the dialogue, but this is the beginning, so I'm explaining a lot of things. I'm very glad you liked my story! :)**

**Squeaky-monkey- thank you for both your reviews! :) Yes, Blossom is kind of a bigger part, but Clove won't see her now that she's off to the games. What do you think about Cato and Clove? Will they fall in love? XD You'll see.**

**Guest- thank you for the great review. I love when people point out the scenes they liked in my story, not the scenes they didn't like. Hopefully you will enjoy this chapter as well!**

**Thanks so much! Sorry I couldn't update faster. What do you guys think about Cato?**

**Till next time!**

**-Madi **


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